


What a Blast

by wickedthoughts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Boy King of Hell Sam, Cannibalism, Cowgirl Position, Crack, Demon Dean Winchester, Groping, Hair-pulling, Implied Relationships, Multi, Orgasm Denial, Rough Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Teasing, Vaginal Sex, Vessel Consent Issues, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:51:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2079246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedthoughts/pseuds/wickedthoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the once-a-millennium Demon Family Dinner and Abaddon is bored. She just wants to fuck everyone, is that so wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What a Blast

**Author's Note:**

> Crack with a capital "C"
> 
> Inspired by this* prompt on the spnkink-meme. Somehow porn happened. Actual sex only happens with Abaddon/Sam and (offscreen) Meg/Cas. There's a fantasy that involves Meg/Cas/Dean/Naomi.
> 
> The "implied relationships" refers to Dean/Cas and Sam/Dean. There's also mention of past Sam/Ruby and Abaddon/Cain.
> 
> The "cannibalism" refers to the fact that, yes, in Hell they eat babies, okay?
> 
> This is ridiculous, you have been warned.

* * *

They meet in Hell’s Great Hall once a millennium. An ancient tradition that’s been warped into the equivalent of Demon Thanksgiving. Their own little fucked-up family dinner. Which could be fun, Abaddon supposes, if there were more fistfights breaking out instead of the awful, passive-aggressive glaring everybody’s doing instead. Just kill each other or fuck each other already, she thinks. She doesn’t really care which.

Okay, that’s a lie. She’s really horny and partial to the _fuck each other_ option at the moment.

Lucifer, naturally, sits at the head of the long table and presides over the ordeal. Sitting to his left and right are Lilith and that youngest fucking Winchester boy. The first source of dissension in the ranks, Abaddon seethes. Why has Sam Winchester been invited to this shindig in the first place? Okay, so she’s biased. She’s never forgiven the doe-eyed little shit for setting her favorite meatsuit _on-fucking-fire._ But c’mon, even factoring in the time he spent in Hell, he’s less than two hundred years old. And the kid’s not even a demon, for crying out loud, he’s only full of demon blood. Just like a tick. Why does _he_ get to sit at Lucifer’s right hand, like some golden child? Why does _he_ get to have the Father of Hell smile indulgently at his every idle word and terrible joke?

Sam’s older brother, sitting beside him, she gets. He’s got the Mark of Cain and the black-eyed demon credentials to match now. And, okay, she’s biased there, too. So what? Dean Winchester’s so fucking pretty. She’s itching to ride him, in more ways than one. Lucky her, she’s seated next to him. After she finishes her first bottle of Syrah, she’ll put a hand up on his thigh and see how receptive he is. Even if Cain happens to be sitting next to her. Which is awkward, but Abaddon’s managed not to look at him thus far. When she feels his bushy eyebrowed glower fixed on her, she laughs a little too loudly, bright red lips grinning just a little too widely. Abaddon’s a pro at this. She’s got plenty of practice dealing with bitter exes.

And speaking of bitter exes, whose brilliant idea was it to sit Ruby next to Lilith? Within range of Sam, right across from Dean? Oh, right. Lucifer’s brilliant idea. Abaddon knows he does these things on purpose, and it reminds her why she’s chosen to serve him. She needs these little reminders every once in a while. They keep her from staging that mutiny that’s always simmering on the backburner of her dreams. Ruby keeps trying to make eye contact with Sam, an evil little smirk on her face, and Sam keeps looking pointedly away. _That_ was a bad break-up. Dean catches Ruby’s looks and makes overprotective-big-brother death glares right back at her. This makes Ruby’s smirk ever wider, and she flips her dark hair insolently as she leans over and whispers in the ear of the cherubic little girl Lilith’s wearing for the occasion. Lilith looks so cute with her bronze curls and frilly white dress. It would make Abaddon want to rip her face off, even if Lucifer’s favorite demon _hadn’t_ teased her with a cry of “Auntie Abbie!” when the Knight had arrived fashionably late for the party. Cain’s insistence on calling Lilith “stepmother” whenever he addresses her, the senior demon rolling her big blue eyes at him every time, does nothing to quell Abaddon’s rage.

Across from Abaddon, next to Ruby, Azazel is shoveling food into his mouth. Abaddon’s disgusted at the sight, but at least with his mouth full the yellow-eyed bastard can’t wag his self-satisfied, obnoxious tongue at her. Next to him, Azazel’s favorite- and hottest- daughter, Meg, is chatting it up with her stiff-backed angel boyfriend, his broad shoulders tensed underneath his ratty trench coat as he looks uneasily around the table. There’s always at least one angel, besides Lucifer himself, represented at these dinners. This year there are two, both a demon’s plus one, and how fucking beautiful is _that?_

Next to Castiel sits Naomi, here with- _ugh_ \- Crowley, and both angels seem to have some unspoken agreement not to acknowledge the other’s presence. Naomi and Crowley bitch at and bicker with each other, but when Abaddon looks underneath the table she sees that they’re playing footsie and it makes her want to puke. She thinks that after she gauges Dean’s interest, she’ll make a pass at Naomi. She really wants to pop the buttons on that pressed white shirt, muss up that perfectly coiffed bun while her fingers tease through the pants of that boring-ass grey pantsuit and the uptight angel moans wantonly into her mouth. And- Abaddon’s meticulously calculated this in her head- only 51.9% of that desire is rooted in her ambition to show-up that dick Crowley. Naomi’s just super fucking hot. And she’s chosen a gorgeous vessel, too.

“Anybody up for some more, ah, roast beast?”

Across from Castiel, Alastair has risen from his seat and pulled the serving platter with half a roasted baby carcass closer to him. He brandishes the carving knife and fork, his artist’s tools for this evening. Alastair’s always in charge of preparing the meal and choosing the wine list. Abaddon’s always been fond of Hell’s head torturer. The fact that he knows his stuff in the kitchen doesn’t hurt her opinion of him, either. She drains her almost-full wine glass and refills it from the now almost-empty bottle she’d claimed for herself at the beginning of the dinner. She catches Naomi watching her judgmentally and she waggles her eyebrows suggestively at the gorgeous ice queen. Naomi looks indignantly away, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks. Abaddon grins.

“Yeah, I’ll take some more, Al.”

Dean holds his plate out in front of Abaddon to be passed down to Alastair. She stares, first at it, then at him, with incredulity. Cain sighs in exasperation and yanks the plate from Dean’s hand. The Grand Inquisitor puts one of the child’s plump legs on the dish. Once the plate’s back in front of him, Dean digs in with relish. Castiel and Naomi make faces of distaste as they watch him eat. Prigs. Out of the corner of her eye, Abaddon sees Sam grimace, too, and she sneers at him. Time to grow a pair if you want to sit at Lucifer’s side, little boy.

At the other head of the table is the Mother of All, guest of honor every millennium for Lucifer’s efforts to maintain an alliance with Purgatory. Eve always brings one of her children and this year it’s one of her Hungriest. The head Leviathan insists on being called “Dick Roman,” which makes several of the dinner guests snicker, Dean most audibly. Dick- Abaddon snickers, too- doesn’t even bother with his human face. He’s all teeth and tongues, and he looks without eyes to his Mother with a petulant snarl. She speaks to Alastair politely, but with the undercurrent of power and malice that’s always present in her voice.

“Can we get the rest of that down here, please?”

Alastair obliges with a gracious half-bow and a flourish of spindly fingers. He passes the platter to the demon sitting next to him. He, in turn passes it to the next demon, then the next, and then to Dick- _snicker_ \- who inhales the remainder of the expertly prepared infant. Abaddon watches Castiel gulp, remembers that Dick- _yep, still funny_ \- was once _inside_ him- _wait, did she just make that joke even better?_ \- and wonders if angels can vomit, because this one looks like he might.

The three demons to Alastair’s right Abaddon’s not overly-familiar with. More of the crowd with the unfortunate habit of taking names from their human hosts. What a pathetic demonic trend. Casey and Tammi are alright, she supposes, but that smarmy sycophant Brady is almost as insufferable as Crowley himself. He’s been trying to get a word in with Sam all evening, but the unworthy Boy-King seems as disgusted with Brady as Abaddon is herself. He hadn’t been invited initially, but then Samhain had declined his invitation. Something about not wanting to sit at the same table as the brothers Winchester and also being “Christdamn fucking sick of everyone mispronouncing his name.” Abaddon’s not entirely sure what that’s about, all she knows is that she’d rather deal with Samhain’s smug formality than Brady’s schmoozing.

Rounding off the menagerie of dinner guests are Death himself and one of his favorite Reapers who appears as a pretty young woman calling herself Tessa. Death sits to Eve’s right and picks at his food. Apparently it’s not deep-fried enough for his liking. Tessa doesn’t eat the food on her plate or drink the pale Pinot Grigio in her glass, just stares around the room with a placid, wide-eyed look that’s simultaneously detached and interested. It’d be an impressive poker face. And there’s an idea, Abaddon thinks. Strip poker with this crowd-

“Thank you all for coming,” Lucifer stands regally and raises his glass of Chianti. The others follow suit, raising their respective beverages together. “And thank you, Alastair, for the wonderful feast.”

“It was my honor, my Lord,” Alastair hisses, inclining his head respectfully.

“A toast,” Lucifer continues. “To the prosperity of Hell. And Purgatory, of course.”

“Of course,” Eve agrees pleasantly.

“To the smooth running of the cosmos,” Lucifer acknowledges Death and Naomi. They nod at him, tight-lipped. “And to new, powerful allies.”

He claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder and smiles first at him, then at Dean. They smile back, Sam with a power-hungry gleam in his eye and his brother with a cocky grin. Abaddon gags internally. She sees Castiel eyeing the brothers warily from behind his glass of Malbec.

“To you all.”

Lucifer finishes his toast with charismatic aplomb, drinks from his glass, and gracefully sits. The rest of the table follow his lead. Even Tessa takes a sip.

“Crowley, for dessert I’m told you have a special treat for us?”

Lucifer looks at Crowley, who nods. Alastair always handles dinner, and Crowley always handles dessert. Good thing Abaddon’s never been much of a dessert kind of girl.

“Yeah, I’ve got something good baking right now. Won’t be but fifteen minutes.”

Crowley rises to check on his culinary creation, pausing to address his date.

“Back in two shakes, love.”

He kisses Naomi on the cheek. She turns her head away from him, eyes raised skyward.

“Oh dear, however will I manage to entertain myself in your absence?” Naomi snarks, but she gives his hand a squeeze before he leaves her side.

Crowley apparently underestimates how long his dessert needs because it’s at least half-an-hour before he returns. In that time, Lilith has managed to catch Lucifer’s undivided attention and is talking animatedly to him, tiny hands flapping with excitement. Cain’s inscrutable ire seems to have shifted to his “stepmother,” his intense glare focused on her now. Sam and Dean are talking quietly to each other, Dean taking swigs straight from the bottle of his “Whataya mean you don’t have beer? Alright, that settles it, Hell is for pansies. Fine, I’ll have whatever _that_ one is” consolation Merlot. Ruby has pulled out a pen and is intently focused on drawing something right on the tablecloth. Azazel’s eyes are shut and he’s leaned back in his chair as if he’s napping, even though demons don’t sleep. Whatever’s he’s doing- meditating maybe?- Abaddon doesn’t care as long as it keeps him quiet. Alastair cleans his serving tools, humming sinisterly to himself. Casey and Tammi are having a conversation that Brady keeps attempting, unsuccessfully, to break into. The Leviathan pouts at the lack of food and Eve puts a comforting hand on his shoulder even as she directs her attention to an anecdote from Death. Tessa has risen to her feet and is walking around, inspecting the Great Hall’s architecture. Naomi swirls her Riesling and steals appraising glances at Abaddon, who enters the “coy” stage of her seduction technique and looks away. Meg and Castiel have disappeared somewhere. And why should they have all the fun? Abaddon thinks.

She brazenly reaches her hand between Dean’s legs and strokes his inner thigh. To her delight, the newly-minted demon grabs her hand and places it over his very interested crotch.

“Hold that thought, Sammy.”

“Dean, we need to- ” Sam makes an annoyed face, then he sees why Dean’s brushing him off and his eyes widen comically. “Oh, okay, I’ll just- yeah.”

He doesn’t look away, though, as Abaddon gropes his brother through his jeans. His breathing quickens along with Dean’s and his eyes glaze over with lust. Abaddon winks at him, visions of having Sam Winchester’s naked body tied down and at her mercy swim through her imagination. Lucifer would be pissed if she damaged him permanently, but she has a few ideas for activities that wouldn’t leave marks. She could even have both brothers at the same time, if the reactions Sam’s having to her ministrations on Dean are anything to go by. How fucking hot would that be? And if she could get Naomi in on that action? And/or Meg and her angelic date? Fuck, that’d be like demon Christmas. Smutty, debauched, depraved- in other words, _perfect_ \- demon Christmas.

Dean’s rubbing himself shamelessly against her hand, making soft guttural noises in the back of his throat, and Sam’s unconsciously pressing against his own growing bulge as he watches. Abaddon can tell Dean’s close and she cruelly snatches her hand away, laughing when he growls and tries to pull it back. She’s much older than him, stronger, and easily resists. She whispers in his ear, letting her tongue flick inside every so often.

“That was just a taste, pretty boy. There’s a hell of a lot more where that came from. Wanna explore it after dessert?”

“Let’s go now,” Dean grumbles, legs tensing to stand. “This party’s lame, anyway.”

“Even if I have it on good authority that Crowley’s making pie?”

“What? Seriously? You’d better not be bullshitting me.”

Dean settles back in his seat. Abaddon laughs cryptically. She’s messing with him, and she can’t wait to see what Crowley’s _actually_ made. Although, knowing Crowley, he might make pie in an effort to win Dean’s affection.

She’s aware of several eyes on them. Lucifer regards her impassively out of the periphery of his vision. Ruby’s gaping, Cain’s glowering - quelle surprise there,- and Naomi’s biting her bottom lip as she stares. Meg and Castiel had returned while Abaddon had been otherwise occupied. Their hair and clothing are mussed and the angel has lipstick imprints all over the lower half of his face. Meg gives Abaddon a congratulatory smile and a thumbs up, and Abaddon makes a “right back at you” gesture in return. Castiel gazes intently at Dean, and Abaddon realizes that maybe there’s something there, too. Damn, she really needs to make a chart of who at this table’s fucked who. Or who _wants_ to fuck who. Or who _should_ fuck who-

It’s a glorious bastardization of the old philosophic conundrum. Only instead of angels and pins, it’s how many demons/angels/whatevers can Abaddon get into her bed at the same time? Sounds like a worthy challenge for the last Knight of Hell.

Crowley brings his dessert out then, a cake-like thing he announces as “Cherry, Apricot, and Almond Clafouti” served with a sweet Port wine. The name makes Dean chuckle loudly before he amiably calls Abaddon a “lying bitch.” She smiles mockingly at him. For all his laughter, Dean eats a generous portion of the Clafouti and deems it “yummy.” Crowley beams.

Finally, the dinner’s over. Over at the far end of the table Eve’s admonishing Dick- _fine, less funny now_ \- that if he behaves they can make a pit stop on Earth for a snack on the way home. Death and Tessa leave first, Death making some polite excuse, Lucifer cordially thanking him for coming. Eve and Dick- _okay, one last snicker for the road_ \- depart next.

“You know how it is with kids,” Eve claps a hand on the Leviathan’s shoulder and smiles at Lucifer, who agrees that, yes, he does know how it is. Tammi, Casey, and Brady rise and start clearing the table. Abaddon realizes that their invitations must have been contingent on them cleaning up afterwards. Lucifer stands and stretches.

“Thank you all for coming, forgive me, but I’m going to retire early. Feel free to stay as long as you like.”

He exits the Great Hall with Lilith and Ruby holding hands and skipping after him. Alastair, Cain, and Azazel trickle out accompanied by the sounds of Crowley and Naomi’s latest argument.

“Just try one bite for me, pet.”

“What have I told you about calling me pet, dear? And you know angels don’t eat.”

“ _He_ ate a piece,” Crowley points at Castiel, who looks at Meg for help.

“Leave him out of this,” Meg and Naomi say at the same time, then smile tentatively at the other. Castiel plays with the belt of his coat.

“Come on, Castiel. We’re going home.”

Naomi stands and puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. They disappear in a thunderclap of wingbeats. Damn it, Abaddon thinks. She had been so close with Naomi this time-

“Damn it,” Meg and Crowley say together, stare at the space where their fuckbuddies have just vanished, and then glare at each other. If there’s one demon who hates Crowley more than Abaddon, it’s Meg.

“Oh, whatever, I’m out. Later boys, dickface, _Auntie Abbie._ ”

She acknowledges each of them in turn, smirks at Abaddon, and disappears. Okay, and now you’re on my shit list, too, cupcake, Abaddon thinks sourly.

“Surrounded by morons,” Crowley mutters. He storms back into the kitchen. Abaddon turns to Dean, and Sam by extension.

“Alone at last.”

“Yeah, um,” Dean interrupts himself by yawning. “I’m kinda tired all of a sudden-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Abaddon snarls.

“Well, see, no. I’m doing _neither_ of those things to you,” Dean gives her his best shit-eating grin before he stands up and loosens his belt. “See, you’re hot an’ all, but I don’t give it up for bitchy teases. I mean, look at me. I can get anyone I want.”

Oh hell no, did she just get played? Did Dean-fucking-Winchester lead her on to mess with her?

He’s fucking lucky that Lucifer’s taken a shine to him because of his brother. Shithead probably knows it, too. That’s alright. She’ll get him next time. She knows that he wants her, and Dean doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to self-control. They both have an eternity to do this dance.

“Come on, Sam, let’s go home.”

“Uh, you go on ahead.”

Sam has been trying to catch Abaddon’s eye throughout her exchange with Dean. She looks him over now. It’s not that he’s unattractive to her. On the contrary, he’s pretty fuckin’ hot, tall and muscular, and a girl could really sink her fingers into that hair and just _yank_ while she rode him cowgirl style or bent him over and pegged him from behind-

Really, it’s just her petty grudge. Because he set her _on-fucking-fire_ that one time, and in defense of _Crowley_ no less. She loves Josie Sand’s body, it’s a great body, and it had taken her precious time, energy, and resources to have it remade-

Oh fuck it, Abaddon’s in. He’s so cute and eager and she’s pretty sure he’ll let her do almost anything she wants to him. She really hopes he tries using those whatever-the-fuck demon blood powers on her. If he thinks they’ll work on something as ancient and powerful as her, he’s in for a shock-

Hell yes, she’s going to fuck Lucifer’s golden boy.

She looks at Sam and licks her lips in approval. His hands start fumbling with the button on his jeans.

“You sure Sam?”

“Oh yeah,” Sam’s pupils are threatening to consume his irises.

“That’s my boy,” Dean says with pride.

“If you’re not going to contribute, get the fuck out,” Abaddon snaps.

“I’m goin’, I’m goin’. Jeez.”

Once Dean’s gone and Sam’s got his pants off, Abaddon grabs him by the shoulders and physically throws him onto the cleared table. She peels off her black leather jacket slowly. He’s panting, propping himself up on his elbows, the front of his boxers tenting obscenely. Nice.

“You weren’t my first choice,” she informs him, ripping off her shirt in pieces. Her bra follows. “But you’ll do just fine, little boy-king. Oh, and don’t speak, alright? I think that’d spoil it.”

He’s ripping off his shirts and boxers- and damn, that’s a nice cock- as she’s unzipping her pants. She’s been wet since before dinner started, and she doesn’t wear underwear. The scent of her own arousal intoxicates her. She climbs up on the table and straddles Sam, taking him inside her with one brutal thrust. He’s huge and it feels amazing, but Abaddon gets the sense that Sam’s used to being in control in the bedroom and that shit doesn’t fly with her. She slaps his hands away from sinking into the supple flesh of her ass as she rides him, redirecting them to her breasts. He gets it then, his long fingers rubbing circles over her pointed nipples. She buries her own fingers in his hair like she’d imagined and pulls brutally, reveling in his mingled gasps of pain and pleasure. This is so fucking vanilla, but goddamn if it isn’t doing it for her. She must be going soft.

It’s okay, she thinks as she approaches climax in waves. She has another thousand years to work on adding a couple more of those dinner guests to this tableau. She grinds down on Sam’s cock as she crests a wave of pleasure- _so close_ \- but then she’s going back down again. She thinks about the others joining in. Castiel’s on all fours, eating Meg out as the demon sits back in a chair, thighs spread and slender fingers buried in her own dark hair as it tosses around her pretty face. Meg’s writhing and shrieking with pleasure while Castiel proves himself to be quite the multitasker as he simultaneously takes Dean’s cock, the angel’s moans muffled by where his mouth is and adding to Meg’s rapture- And, what the fuck, Naomi and Dean are going at it, too. Apparently Dean is also excellent at multitasking and while he’s on his knees with his cock buried in one angel’s ass, his tongue is buried in the other’s mouth, both their lips full and swollen as he holds her up with one strong arm. Naomi’s legs are wrapped around his waist and her ass is pressed against Castiel’s as she uses the seraph as a chair, Dean’s other hand moving between her legs as she grinds against him, naked breasts pressed against his collarbone. Abaddon observes it all, riding Sam’s monster cock, and she’s so full and powerful and-

She yanks on Sam’s hair so forcefully it makes him yell and she comes with a shout that shakes the Great Hall. A few more thrusts, and Sam follows, grunting in relief. Boy’s got stamina and self-control, she’ll give him that. She’s off him before he’s finished shooting, the last spurts of his come pulsing from his cock and dribbling down over the tight bundle of his balls to pool between his legs. As she hops off the table, she looks down in mild curiosity to see what Ruby had been drawing earlier.

Dicks. Ruby had been drawing a bunch of dicks. Go figure.

“Oh my god-” Sam breathes.

Oh right. He’s still technically human. Abaddon hasn’t fucked a human in so long. Is he going to want to talk about feelings now or some shit like that? She pulls her pants back on, shrugs on her jacket and zips it up. She doesn’t bother trying to find her bra.

“Alright, clean yourself up. See you in a thousand.”

“Wait, what?”

She’d turned to go, but she glances over her shoulder. He looks so lost, like some giant puppy. A giant, sweaty, naked puppy struggling to sit up in a puddle of his own semen. She’s relieved to find that she despises him again.

“A thousand. Years. The next time we do this dinner party. I’m generalizing, of course, we’ll probably see each other sometime before that.”

“But-”

She doesn’t wait for him to finish before she vanishes from the Great Hall. And here she’d thought _Dean_ would be the clingy one. All that bravado and bullshit machismo has got to be masking some deep-seated insecurities. Or maybe they’re both clingy? She really doesn’t need that. Too bad they’re so damn _hot._

“A thousand years,” she speaks aloud into the void. Not all that long when you’re an eons-old immortal being, but it does gives a girl some time to work on making that fantasy a reality.

Either that, or sowing the seeds of discord so that a bloody fistfight _does_ break out next time. Maybe someone’ll die. Please let it be Crowley. She laughs into the void. Now that she’s come down after getting her rocks off, Abaddon finds that she once again really doesn’t care which one it is. Fuck or fight, it’s all the same to her. Just as long as it’s not boring.

_See you in 3014._

**Author's Note:**

> *Everyone is suddenly not dead or something and the most awkward family dinner ensures. Like Cain having to call Lilith stepmom and Eve showing from Purgatory. All the love for demon!Dean (and probably boy!king Sam) having to fill the favorite grandson role. Antie Abbodon etc. Just all the crack. Ple-eese? ([x](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/87399.html?thread=33873255#t33873255))


End file.
